


As the World Turns

by Puce



Series: Viet Nam War Era [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1960s, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Cuddles, Established Relationship, Everyone Loved Walter Cronkite, Historical Accuracy, Historical References, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Lee Harvey Oswald is Innocent and The Government Lied Fight Me About It, M/M, Pre-War, angsty cuddles?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-16 20:33:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16961013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Puce/pseuds/Puce
Summary: A moment like any other in the fall of 1963, except for when it wasn't.





	As the World Turns

**Author's Note:**

> This is somewhat of an establishing piece for the relationship that I have between Steve and Bucky for my upcoming fic set during the Vietnam War.

_1963_

 

Mild weather had graced New York this Friday afternoon in November, so Steve and Bucky made the most of it by lounging on the couch with the window of their Brooklyn apartment open.

 “You really gonna make us keep watching this soap opera bullshit, Rogers?” Bucky asked with a pointed jab to Steve’s ribs with his foot. Bucky had splayed out hogging the couch while Steve was curled up at the end with his sketchbook in hand.

 “Seeing as I’m busy here, looks like you’re the one that’s actually watching it, Buck,” Steve quipped back, casual as you please, but his eyes were glinting with mirth. “I just wanted some background noise, you can change it if you’d like.”

 “Or,” Bucky dragged out the word in an exaggerated drawl, shifting over so that he was plastered to Steve’s side with an arm around the back of the couch, and his fingertips brushed the nape of his neck. Steve repressed a shudder and turned his head just so that he could look at Bucky out of the corner of his eye. “You could keep me better company before I’m off to work tonight.”  

 That smirk of his was always damn-near impossible for Steve to resist, coupled with a molasses-sweet murmur that ghosted warm breath over the stubble on Steve’s cheek, and he was a fool to think he would have said no to Bucky anyway. His head turned the rest of the way so that their lips could meet, the kiss they shared languid and unhurried as Bucky’s hand curled around his neck and held him right where he wanted him.

 The backdrop of their tiny television playing that horrible soap opera while they kissed on a tatty thrifted couch wasn’t exactly the picture of romance, but for Steve and Bucky, where the home was the only place they _could_ share a tender moment such as this - they’d take what they could get.

 Abrupt silence and the odd sound of shuffling papers distracted them enough to pull apart and glance at the television, which now displayed a CBS news bulletin card. Not that they were fans or anything, but television networks didn’t just interrupt afternoon soaps that kept the old white folk on their deathbeds entertained unless if it was a damned good reason.

 “Buck, turn up th-” Steve started to say, eyes glued to the screen, but Bucky was already on it, sliding off the couch and crouching down to crank the volume knob.

 “ _-n Dallas Texas, three shots were fired at President Kennedy’s motorcade in downtown Dallas, the first reports say that President Kennedy has been_ seriously _wounded by this shooting. More details just arrived, these just about the same as the previous….”_

 Bucky had frozen where he was crouched by the television, and Steve sat stock still still on the couch, the pleasant flush having faded quite rapidly from his face at the news.

  _"....United Press says that the wounds, for President Kennedy, perhaps, could be fatal. Repeating, a bulletin from CBS News, President Kennedy has been shot, by a would-be assassin in Dallas, Texas. Stay tuned for further details.”_ The bulletin card was gone just as quick as it was there, replaced by a nestle coffee commercial that was playing music far too cheery in light of what had just been said.

 “The fuck, are you kiddin’ me? Don’t just leave us hanging like that, I ain’t gonna suffer through soap operas if the damn President’s been shot?” Bucky griped at the television, now sitting back as though he’d needed to better ground himself. Steve was still staring at the tiny screen in shock, lips slightly parted and brows furrowed. An _assassin?_ It sounded almost too incredulous to be true.

Thankfully, they only had to suffer through the jovial coffee commercial before static broke out on the television again, a blank screen that left the two sitting with bated breath on what could be the latest news. The next update wasn’t much new, save for more nuanced details about what had happened at the time of the shooting, and that the president had been rushed to Parkland hospital.

"Holy shit, Buck,” Steve breathed, wide-eyed as he finally tore his eyes from the screen. The CBS newsman confirmed that this incident had only happened in just the last few minutes, so they were quite literally stuck watching this shitty soap opera now, until more news on the fate of the President was given.

Bucky just nodded his agreement with Steve’s sentiment, slowly getting up from the floor to slide back onto the couch next to him, a furrow etched in his brow as though he were pissed off at being so confused - or just at the lack of immediate knowledge. Steve reached out and gripped Bucky’s hand in his own, both for reassurance and his own comfort.

The newscard came back on, and the two men were locked in place just as much of America was at that time, the stillness was nearly tangible. Even the wind seemed to have stilled, with everyone holding their breath simultaneously to hear the fate of their president. All of this chatter about the minute details of the event that continued to be repeated was about as interesting as the static or the soap opera that was interrupted. At the first utterance of the most recent update that President Kennedy was still alive, the two let out an exhale and turned to each other.

“Damn, Stevie, think I’d rather be watching that soap right about now,” Bucky murmured in a quiet voice, lacking in his usual tone of blitheness. Steve hummed in agreement, and tucked his arm around Bucky’s shoulders to tug him close to his chest.

“Shit, shit, Cronkite’s on,” Steve whispered, Walter Cronkite was his favorite news anchor, and the reason the television was tuned to CBS in the first place, as getting to tune into the evening news was the main reason they’d even scrounged up the dough to buy the crappy little television set they had. But this whole news broadcast was clearly so hurriedly rushed together, it was such an unsettling change from the typical cookie-cutter formatting that took place in television programming that it lent to the uneasy air that had settled over no doubt all of America.

After about fifteen minutes of the broadcast with no actual _news_ , Bucky got up, unable to keep still for much longer. He paced about their tiny living room for a bit, glanced down at Steve where he still sat with his eyes glued to the television set, then padded over to their kitchen. Steve itched to resume his sketch that was a concept of his project for the art class he took at night, but he feared that now all he’d be able to draw were wild, scattered lines that told of his unrest and anxiety. News of the stock exchange being closed down only exacerbated the lump that had formed in his throat, it seemed the world had accepted that the president was dead before the official word had even gone through.

In a manner that only some kind of cosmic force seemed to create the concept of ‘timing,’ Bucky walks back into their living room with two mugs of coffee just as Walter Cronkite is handed the paper which allowed him to announce that President Kennedy was pronounced officially dead at one p.m. central standard time. Steve looked down at his hands with a heavy sigh, not quite able to face the visible grief on Cronkite’s face, the shake in his voice was cutting enough to make this a reality. The most composed, dignified man of the news was on the verge of breaking down on national television, and the President was dead.

Steve didn’t even recognize that his own cheeks had become wet with tears until the lull of Cronkite’s voice was gone as the television was shut off, and two warm hands were placed on either side of his face. He glanced up, and saw that Bucky’s jaw was set, his expression solemn, but he still made it a point to make sure Steve was okay. They’d both lost their president today, but Bucky needed to take care of Steve, just like he always did.

This time, Steve let him.

 

Bucky pulled Steve up and over to their bedroom without a word, where they lay down with Bucky nestled against Steve’s back and his hand settled firmly over Steve’s heart. With Buck holding him, his slowing heartbeat led his head to the tune of the National Anthem, sung slow with a sorrow that reached over the years of all the tragedies this country had faced. This tragedy they were living right now as well, not just the president’s death, far from it. The civil rights movement was going nowhere fast, and all his pipe dreams of getting to propose to Bucky at some schmoozy restaurant like in the movies was about as likely as Dr. King becoming the next president.

Bucky had talked about wanting to join the Army this past year, and Steve was doing his best not to think of what that might mean for them.

They’d cultivated everything so carefully, into this delicate but perfect spot of ramshackle in Brooklyn where they could be together. With the Army, Bucky would have to be ten times as careful to hide the truth. Steve didn’t know if he could stomach Bucky being sent somewhere in nowhere, Georgia or who knows for basic training where they’d have to compose each letter with half-hearted echoes of devotion, so that no one would get suspicious if they got their hands on it. He’d be stuck here finishing school and working to keep their apartment with running water and heat with only pictures and his own sketches of Bucky to keep him company. It sounded like it would be full of nights feeling just as numb as the news of President Kennedy’s death had left him now. But he’d be damned if he was going to stop Bucky from doing what he wanted to do, and he knew damn well it’d kill Bucky just as much to be away from Steve.

The Army meant a lot to Buck, after his father had fought in WWII then later fought and died in the Korean War. _Seems like the thing I ought to do, too,_ he’d said.

When Steve had fisted his hands in Bucky’s shirt and shoved him against the wall, tears welling up in his eyes and asked, “Go get yourself killed in a war? That’s what you _ought to do?”_ Bucky’s face had shuttered from composure to confusion, then heartache in a manner of seconds.

“No, Stevie, no, just - fight the good fight, like I’m doing here with you, just - beyond punks at the shop or assholes at work, just. Bigger things, Stevie. Helping you, keeping you safe, it - it helped me see that I want to do that for other people, too, I wanna do what we’ve got to do to help people everywhere. Not just the damn slums of Brooklyn.”

Steve had softened right up at that, the fear-laden anger in his eyes replaced with absolute, heart-shattering love for the man in front of him. He’d not been able to restrain himself, and kissed his Bucky for the first time right there where he’d had him pinned against the wall. The gasp it elicited from Bucky was something Steve would recall in his best memories to this day, the way he’d melted against Steve before he’d scrambled for purchase at his shirt over his shoulderblades and kissed Steve so desperate and fervently; it’d been as though he’d never get this chance again and was going to make the most of it, breathing out years of desire in the little sighs he’d made into Steve’s mouth.

The way that kiss had turned to them losing their clothes and tumbling together onto the unmade bed, and the subsequent falling asleep in each other’s arms had quickly erased any notion that the kiss was the end, but instead a _finally._

“I dunno much about that Johnson fella, but here’s hoping, Buck,” Steve eventually uttered into the fragile stillness that had settled over them, the tension seeping from his body as he leaned into the comfort Bucky offered him.

Bucky made a noncommittal noise close to his ear, nuzzling his nose against the nape of Steve’s neck before he rested his cheek against Steve’s shoulder.

“You gonna be alright while I’m at work?”

“Yeah, Buck, I’ll be okay. Thank you.”

Bucky’s arm tightened around him in response, and they settled back into the quiet. Bucky still had a few hours yet before he had to leave, and there was an unspoken decision that a half-dozed rest together in bed was just what they needed.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from the name of the soap opera that was on that the boys gripe about plenty in this fic. It was bad. 
> 
> All of the recounts of the CBS news coverage are transcribed directly from the actual footage, you're able to watch it here https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZuSirR7pPUA&list=PL0O5WNzrZqIMRSDT19pXjBuGLcXKqS-3r to relive some of our American history as I tried to emulate here in this. 
> 
> Yes, I believe the Kennedy assassination was framed by the government potentially under LBJ's order. We've studied it with my professor for a decent amount of time, it's really fucked up to think about. 
> 
> My Vietnam War AU is in the works, but I'm very excited to get started. It will be eventual Steve/Bucky/Tony and be framed as a historical fiction novella that deals with the horrors and realities of the war, the injustices, the antiwar movement, PTSD, POWs, the slow loss of faith in the U.S. government, and of course - finding love in a time where the world is shattering into a new monster around you.


End file.
